


Acceptance

by turnipcat



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Drug Use, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Season/Series 02 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 18:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1314871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnipcat/pseuds/turnipcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's when he tries to forget that he thinks of her most. Jesse/Jane. Takes place in the drug den at the end of Season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acceptance

The pinch of the needle and the warm rush through his veins doesn't send him soaring like he wants it to.

This time, he stays inside his body. Anchored to it by limbs of lead and a heart as black and deep as an ocean trench.

And in that blackness, he can see her. Her ivory skin and cherry lips, face relaxed and eyes teasing as she talks about museums and Georgia O'Keeffe and all those fucking flower vagina paintings. And he's happy—happier than he's ever been.

Because she is his. And he is hers.

And every day he asks himself: how does he, Jesse Pinkman, class A screw-up and good-for-nothing-junkie, manage to find someone so beautiful and so talented and so _perfect_? How does he even _deserve_ her?

He's never had an answer.

Just accepted the gift graciously and wholeheartedly, thanking whatever God or lack thereof for the chance to live happily ever after.

Only this time, as the tweaker next to him empties their bladder and happily floats into oblivion, he realizes: He doesn't.

He doesn't deserve her.

He never did.

“Jesse.”

Someone is touching his face, rolling him over, but that doesn't matter because _he doesn't deserve her_.

“Jesse. Look at me son. Wake up.”

 _Jane_.

“Wake up.”

Something's creaking. Creaking, creaking, bed springs creaking, as he presses down on her chest, down on her chest, again and again and again.

“Jesse, wake up.”

And her skin is white, tinged with grey, blue eyes open and glassy as pools of vomit trace trails down her cheeks.

“Come on, let's get out of here.”

He's lifted up and she's staring at nothing, no hint of life, not even a breath.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Jesse mumbles, and he's flopped back down, and he feels it but he doesn't because the pain in his heart is too strong.

“Jesse, no, you're not good right here.”

He tried.

He tried.

Almost an hour he tried. He tried to get her breathing again, tried to find a pulse, tried to make one. And he begged and pleaded and cried and prayed.

“You are not good at all. Here,” he's lifted again, “put your arms around me. Come on. You're gonna stand up. And we're gonna walk out of here.”

He laid his head against her breast and, for the first time in his life, actually prayed.

But she didn't move.

She didn't speak.

Because he...

He was the one...

She even told him...

_“You have to stay on your side, baby.”_

And still...

“We're gonna take you someplace nice and safe.”

It was his fault.

His fault she relapsed.

His fault she bought it.

His fault she rolled over.

He killed her.

He _killed_ her.

“I killed her,” he sobs into Mr. White's arms, throat raw and words mixing together with the force of his tears. “I killed her. It was me.”

“Jesse,” he's pushed back, two hands on either side of his head keeping him upright. “Jesse, look at me, you didn't kill anybody.”

But he did.

And he didn't know then...not completely...that

“I loved her,” Jesse whispers, cheeks red and skin wet, not seeing the face of the man in front of him, but rather, the face of Jane. Jane smiling. Jane laughing. Black hair tousled as she glides out of bed to meet him in the kitchen, clad in only a t-shirt and underwear and a pair of socks. “I loved her more than anything.”

Suddenly his face is buried in a soft shoulder, two arms wrapping around him in a tight hug as he finally breaks. And Jesse grips back just as tight, clinging on as sorrow wracks his body, drowning him, smothering him until he's sure—so sure—that he's following along behind her, only a step away from death.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Breaking Bad story, and hopefully the beginning of many more. All reviews are welcome and appreciated.


End file.
